Yesterday while I was drawing here at the coffeeshop, a guy came over and asked what my tattoos meant. I noticed immediately the cross necklace he was wearing, but he was being very non-confrontational. Polite and friendly. Above each elbow I have a pointy tailed red devil crucified on a cross. I’ve given many different answers to this question in the past.
One time at the amusement park Michigan Adventure I was with my niece and nephews when a lady behind us in line abruptly stated “Is that a devil on a cross? That’s not right. What do those mean??” Not wanting to cause drama there in front of the kids I responded with, “It’s the devil, because that’s who SHOULD be nailed to the cross!” Sorta shocked, she said, “Oh, well, I guess I can get behind that.” And nothing more was said. My brother right after said, “That was slick.”
You can bet that back in the day when this happened in NYC I had no qualms getting loud and proud about my non belief. But I’ve calmed since. So I asked him if he wanted the quick answer because it’s kind of a deep topic. “I just wanna hear what it means to you. I don’t mind whatever. We’re all adults here.” My explanation went pretty much like this: “I was raised Christian, and taught that people’s wrongs, their sins, could be put onto someone else to pay for. I don’t believe that anymore. It’s a bad concept, taking your bad deeds and pushing them onto someone or something else who pays the price instead of you. Shifting the blame. In no way does that work. It defeats the whole purpose of punishment. It’s a scapegoat. So it’s crusifying the scapegoat.”
I told him how there’s some cultures where hey take a goat or a cow and the whole village puts all their bad deeds into the animal and they eat it, or banish it from town. Then all the people are cleaned of their wrongs. Jesus on the cross is just another version of that. And it’s not real. I understand why people want it to be true, but it’s just scapegoating.”
I could feel it churning up inside me to babble on and on, but I stopped there. He responded to me with “Thank you for that. I understand what you mean. I always enjoy hearing someone else’s perspective. Thank you.” Then we shook hands and that was all.
It was later I realized, yup, they’re crucified scapegoats.
And as I sit here now writing this, I’m overhearing two guys at a table next to me talking excitedly about their new church and how they’re trying to get more people to attend. All I can think about is how eager people are to be convenienced of scapegoating, and this will surely draw in people who want it.
Robb and I were sophomores in high school in 1986. I was 16 years old for one last month, and probably the most obnoxious I’d ever be. As a freshman I was too insecure and overtaken by puberty to fully express my personality disorder. By junior year I was pretending way harder to be cool, supressing myself enough not to be as much a douche as I’d been the year previous. Sophomore Bob however, was the perfect balance of over-confident wise-guy meets witless brat. And this was especially so when I was hanging out with my friend Robb.
Bob & Robb 1986
Robb, in my opinion, was the funniest guy I hung around, ever. He really liked to shock me with the funny/evil stunts he’d pull. Stuff I’d never have the guts to do.
Like, we’d be at a store and there’d be a mother with her six year old next to her. And while the mom wasn’t looking he’d stare at the child and mouth the words, “I hate you and I’m going to get you.” while angrily baring his teeth. Of course the kid would clench mom’s leg in tears. Then, when she’d look over he’d sweetly smile at her, “Your child is adorable… So cute.” Like a harmless admirer.
They’d always smile back in complete belief. Then as soon as she looked away he’d sneer again at the kid and mouth, “I wasn’t joking”.
I was always left gasping for air at how hilariously terrible it all was. And my reactions only encouraged him.
There was the time Robb came to school with pinkeye. And he loved to tease his stepbrother Eric, whom I was also good friends with. And I witnessed Robb wipe his finger in his eye, then poke Eric in the eye with it. The next day Eric showed up at school with pink eye too. It was really funny, I gotta say.
But on this day, in early June of ’86, Robb invited me to come with him to visit his dad who was a couple hours drive from Lakewood, Colorado. Robb had his own car, and as a driver, he was brand-spankin new. His license was as fresh as his attitude. And with me in the passenger seat, it was an easy recipe for trouble.
Details of the following event were taken from the diary I started writing in 1985.
So it’s the middle of the day on the freeway on our way to meet Robb’s dad’s. Two sixteen year olds thrilled to be on our own and on the road. Almost like adults! Then we notice this orange & white Bronco to our left. There’s two guys in it and they’re yelling and pointing at the front of our car like there’s something wrong there. I describe them in my diary as being “beer drinking 20 year olds.”
Robb and I are both looking out at them and where they’re pointing and see nothing, nor can we understand what they’re shouting. I’m shrugging my shoulders at them, and Robb tells me we’re about to take this next exit on the right. We both agree it’d be funny if I gave them the finger after we exit safely out of their reach. What a great idea! So as he’s merging off, and they’re in the far lane over, I flip them the big ol’ bird.
Much to both of our surprise, they steer their truck abruptly across the median through a cloud of dirt and dust and get off the same exit directly behind us. And they’re fucking pissed. They close in fast, bumper nearly touching ours, determined to revenge my disrespect. We can’t believe this is happening, but we also weren’t as scared as we probably should have been. Because as the speeds increased upwards of 80+ mph, they pulled up along side us again, and this time we understood what they were saying.
“YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD! YOU’RE MINE! YOU THINK YOU’RE HOT SHIT! YOU BOTH ARE FUCKING DEAD!!”
Now I cannot say what exactly came over me at this moment. What I chose to do as a response wasn’t logical. And if it hadn’t been Robb sitting there next to me I probably wouldn’t have even considered it. You see, what I did was put my hands on my cheeks and sarcastically mouth the words “OH I’M SOOOO SCARED” to their face. And I remember it was at their faces because the look their faces changed into at that moment told me they were even madder than before.
I remember Robb pointing at the speedometer and the little red wand was at the number 80 as they swerved their truck back and forth at us. Then the guy in the passenger seat started throwing stuff. A shoe, and then bottles. Panicked, Robb slowed way down, to which they pulled in front of us and slowed down even more. We did not want to pass them, so we slowed down until both of our vehicles were bumper to bumper edging onto the shoulder, coming to a dead stop. For a few seconds we were bumper to bumper, them in front of us, standing still on the side of the freeway. Then they began backing towards us. That’s when Robb gunned it back onto the freeway, swerving around them and back into traffic. Of course they started chase again, right up to our bumper. Speed increasing quickly.
We had no idea what to do. How do we get away from this? Then we saw another exit coming towards us. This one down to a shopping district. We agreed that to lose them we should take the exit at the very last second. As the off ramp got closer, with them on our bumper, Robb waited until there wasn’t any space for them to follow and he swerved right across the lines and down the exit. They didn’t give a shit. They swerved across the lanes, over the median, their truck bouncing over the curbs right behind us. It was exactly then we saw the red stoplight ahead of us with a stream of cross traffic that could not be driven through. “Red light!” “We hafta stop!” ”They’re right behind us!”
As we came to a stop behind another car we frantically rolled up our windows and locked the doors. Their truck stopped right behind boxing us in. They both got out and stormed our car. We each had one of these monsters outside our window punching it with their fists. Then somehow, the guy at my door got his fingers over the top of my window, yanked, and pulled the whole glass out, shattering it onto the street. My pink face was there completely naked for him to pummel. Then, by luck, the light had turned green and the car ahead of us moved forward, probably witnessing what was happening. Robb was able to get around and speed away leaving them there standing in the street. They were screaming, laughing, yelling things. I don’t know what, because by then we were scared bright yellow.
We were trying to figure out where to hide when we saw a parking lot with a cop car in it. We ended up filing a police report telling the whole story, except the part about me flipping them the bird that started everything. Just two doe-eyed teens innocently driving to see his dad, when all of a sudden… The same story we told his dad to explain the busted window.
I remember nothing at all about that weekend spent there. Besides getting the window replaced, we probably did some fun stuff. But nothing as memorable as that car chase.
After graduation we totally lost touch. It wasn’t until my 30th class reunion I saw Robb again, and the very first thing he said to me was, “Bob! Remember that car chase?!?”
It was the spring of 2010, and I was in my usual location, Union Square NYC. But right now I wasn’t ready to sit down on the steps. First I had to stop in at Forbidden Planet, which was just a block south on Broadway. It was a place I frequented not only because it’s a cool comic book store right in the neighborhood, but also it’s where I sold my Jesus magnets. On this particular day in the front part of the store was a kiosk set up to promote New York ComicCon! I was briefly stopped by the man at the booth, “Hello! Have you got your tickets for ComicCon yet?”
ComicCon was something I’d never really considered at this point, and at the moment I was here for other purposes. As usual, I strolled around the store to find the magnets and how many sold. But they weren’t in their usual spot, or anywhere for that matter. So I go to the front counter and see my guy Matt who manages there. “I think you’re sold out of my magnets? I don’t see them anywhere.”
Matt checks the computer and tells me there’s still some here, somewhere. So together we start the search. The guy from ComicCon overhears our struggle, and gets interested in whatever this is that someone would go through the trouble to hide. A few minutes pass and Matt shouts “Found ‘em!” picking a pile of them off the ground where they’d been tucked behind a display. “It happened again!” He was referring to the other time an offended customer hid my offensive product within the store. To inhibit sales I suppose. The guy from ComicCon was asking to see what the hell this product was. His name was Mark, and when he saw the Jesus Dressups he laughed, “We’ve got to have these at ComicCon!”
I explained how that was pretty much out of the question. Booths were well out of my price range. “I’m just one guy, and this is pretty much my only product.” Not enough to cover $2,400+ for the smallest, cheapest booth. And this year was actually going to be a far bigger event than just ComicCon. They were combining the Anime Festival and the BookExpo, all 3 in one huge event at the Javits Center. It was just out of the question. “I cannot sell $3,000 worth of these in 4 days.” I told him.
As he held it in his hand he said, “I really want you to consider it. I can get you half off on that booth, $1200. These are just too funny.” And he gave me his card. I went back to Union with that card in my pocket, and decided then and there, “I’m going to make this happen.”
It was taking place the first week of October, so I had months. Enough time to get a brand new set printed up special. A Limited Edition Star Wars Jesus Dressup! I was going all out. My friends could dress up as Jehovah’s Witnesses & Catholic schoolgirls to take part! I would print banners and flyers. It was all very exciting.
ComicCon / October 2010 One of the silly brainstorms I had was to have a couple friends dressup as Jehovah’s Witnesses; white shirt, black tie, shoes & slacks, and of course, name tags. Searching the internet I found a place that could print buttons exactly like the ones JWs wore. It was in Utah, and I had the button design all worked out. I called and placed an order for all 6 in our group, and it read:
NORMAL BOB SMITH MINISTRIES THE CHURCH OFJESUS DRESSUP REFRIGERATOR MAGNETS “Just Google Jesus!”
Oh, I thought I was so clever. Unfortunately, just days before the event the button place returned my money and sent an email telling me they were refusing the job due to conflict of interest. Of course! This was a place run by Jehovah’s Witnesses who manufactured buttons for other Jehovah’s Witnesses, of which I was clearly not. I can only imagine the discussion that took place when they Googled Jesus. Luckily I was able to find another place last minute, right in midtown Manhattan to have them ready the next day. Leave it to New York City.
Owen, Amanda, Kenya, Bob, Mary & Christine
We were ready! The shipment of Star Wars JDUs arrived on time, looking fantastic! My cousin Owen flew in, plus my roommate Christine and her friend Amanda donated themselves. And two friends from Union, Mary & Kenya, all agreed to take part. We’d gotten a couple magnetic boards so people could play with Jesus inside our booth. Printed up posters, and flyers to be handed out. Then I rented a UHaul truck for all the stuff to set up.
SETUP Wednesday October 5th was setup day. I had rented the smallest UHaul to transport everything from Bushwick Brooklyn to the Javits Center on the west side of Manhattan. I knew this was going to be the next challenge. These boxes of rubber magnets are heavy. At the time I had six versions; The Original, BDSM, Xmas, Superstar, Halloween and of course the new Star Wars. One box of these holds 40 sets and each box is about 20 pounds. My expectations were high, so I brought 4 or 5 boxes of each. A quick rounded approximation was about 600 pounds of boxes to be transported from my 3rd floor apartment through the city to booth 2868 at the convention center, by foot. It was a lot.
The instructions we’d received from the event told us everything we needed to know about delivering our goods to the booth. They even encouraged us to use the people working there to help. When we arrived there were signs directing us to the back of the building, and sure enough, there were guys there telling us where to back the truck up and unload. Inside the building on the loading dock my friends and I were told to unload everything onto a pallet ourselves, then they used a forklift to carry it into the building to our spot. We were all extremely happy that it was all going by forklift.
The Jesus Dressup booth ComicCon 2010
The event was the most crowded convention I’d ever seen. Tens of thousands showed up to fill up that building to/and over its capacity. It was so crowded that often people wanting to stop at booths could not because the crowd was too thick and would whisk them away. There were nearly a hundred thousand people at the convention that year!
It also turned out that I may have dressed my friends a little too realistically. Christine, Owen and Kenya who I’d sent into the crowd dressed as Jehovah’s Witnesses carrying clipboards and promotional supplies had trouble getting anyone to pay them attention. “Everyone we approach tries to avoid eye contact and get away from us!” No one at ComicCon wanted to be evangelized too! Go figure. So yeah, that idea of mine kinda backfired.
SATURDAY At conventions like these, Saturday is the busiest. It’s assumed that Thursday and Friday most people are doing more browsing than buying. Saturday most people have the day off, and because it’s nearing the end of the event, everyone shows up and spends. Sunday is a shorter day, and most booths pack up early to beat the mass exodus. There’s always a palpable feel in the air that this circus is about to leave town. So Saturday morning we show up ready to rock, and there’s an envelope on our table addressed to me. It was a bill for $4,400 from the Javits Center for services rendered in transporting 600 lbs of product via forklift to our station. I was crushed.
We’d befriended the couple who were running the booth to our left, who sympathized, “We had precisely the same thing happen to us at another convention. We learned our lesson.” It included a letter stating that before the end of the day Sunday we’d be required to make payment, or provide the means in which to do so. What would have been a great Saturday was totally affected by that wretched invoice.
Living with my 90 year old conservative Christian parents has had its share of challenges. There’s been arguments. Usually political. But those differences work their way into other insignificant disagreements as well. I’m genuinely working to improve the way I handle these things on my end. This particular week has added to that challenge. I haven’t been keeping myself properly hydrated since this heat & humidity kicked in. Too much coffee and not enough water has resulted in a UTI. So it stings when I pee. I’m drinking lots of water and it’s getting better, but it doesn’t help ease tensions within.
Shotzi
There’s a bit too many similarities to how things were 40 years ago living with m&d. Our unchanging differences, this floppy-eared schnauzer that’s almost identical to my childhood dog, all going out to dinner at Auntie M’s. I often have flashbacks to how things were back when I was a bratty kid. Only now I’m an adult. But that child’s behavior is still there wanting to rear it’s ugly head. And this was exactly the sort of thing I’m trying to work on. To eliminate those tendencies from my collection hiding beneath the surface.
Right around the block from us lives my Auntie M & cousin Ben. And today is Ben’s birthday. So the four of us went to their house for Rubens and chocolate cake to celebrate. It’s my dad, mom, & Shotzi headed over to their house. 5pm sharp. Oh, and they have three big dogs -Dud, Bud & Missy. One of which is a brand new, over-energetic Chocolate Lab puppy – Bud. Our 8 year old schnauzer has already met the new pup, and hates him. He’s flipped her on her back a couple times already. In fact, I think it’s safe to say all the dogs are as annoyed with the new puppy as we all are.
Ben & Bud
Ben w/Bud & Missy
Ben w/Bud & Missy
I’m carrying Schotzi in my arms as the three of us are approaching the door. Bud had previously ran right through this door knocking out the screen. So when we arrived there was no containing him. He came pouncing at us all at his peak of hyper upon our arrival, bouncing up and down trying to get at Schotzi in my arms.
My dad and mom are in front of me, and they’ve stopped moving into the house. That’s what you do when you’re entering someone’s home. You stop on the floor mat and say hello to the room while you wipe your feet! My folks were oblivious to the storm building behind them.
Ben had come outside to retrieve the dogs that escaped, but now he’s pushing us from behind trying to close the door. This is when Bud hooked his front paws onto my pants and pulled the entire left side of them down to my knees, exposing my bright aqua boxer briefs in front of everybody. My mom, dad, cousin and aunt. The whole family. I’m struggling to keep from pushing my rickety father forward while my pants are down at my knees. Laughter and barking is all that can be heard as this unrestrained pup reigns hellfire upon us all. And that’s when I fully stumbled forward pushing my dad from behind.
Luckily he steps to the side, but I’m continuing to get pushed forward by the crowd of animals and people behind me. That’s when my legs get tripped up by this oversized footstool and it brings me down in a humiliating pile of furniture and dogs falling forward in slowmo. I hit the ground, spilling Schotzi from my arms, and I basically flop like a dead fish onto the floor. It was dramatic enough to fling my eye glasses across the floor and under the table.
All I hear is laughter. None of it from me. It was rough having to look up and everyone is laughing uncontrollably at me. I could feel my face turning red. And everyone else had resigned from doing anything to help. Shotzi was still in a fit of rage. And so was I.
I got up, pulled up my goddamn pants, and yelled, “SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET HURT!” for some reason. I was mad, and embarrassed. “I’m taking Schotzi home.” and I scooped her up, and while I was storming out my aunt yelled, “Are you coming back for dinner??” “I NEED A MINUTE!!” As I slammed the door behind me.
•
P2 – Hot Stew
This is the only pic of me from that evening
On the way home I stewed. I was embarrassed. I could feel my face still red, and I did not want to come back at all. This’ll be a story to be told again and again, and I gotta be that guy in that story. And did I mention, it stings when I pee still?
I wanted to pout. I wanted them to feel bad. I wanted to cancel dinner and make a scene. In fact, maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just not go back and not call and that’ll make them think twice! This was exactly the sort of thing I was trying to work on. So when I got home I sat in the family room with my dog and I smoked a bowl.
I sat there with Shotzi staring out the window thinking of the different ways I could handle this situation. How the rest of the evening would go was in my hands. And it was then I realized how this situation I am in is actually very very good. • I can do whatever I want, say whatever I please, just as long as I’m a good sport.
When I fully realized this fact, all the anxiety vanished instantly. Like magic. Because adult Bob knows how to be a good sport. Especially if I’m stoned. So I got high, promised my dog a walk upon my return, and headed back on over to my cousin’s birthday dinner without a care in the world.
They were just finishing their Rubens and cutting the cake when I showed up. My aunt asked me very kindly if I was alright. And I could tell they were all anticipating the various ways this could possibly go.
Auntie M, mom, dad, Ben w/Dud & Bud. Shotzi had to go home.
Standing there in front of them all I spoke. “I decided there’s actually a benefit to having had my pants pulled down, and then pushed to the ground in front of you all this evening. Falling on my face to the sound of laughter from you all, my family.” Only stunned silence as I continued. “I realized, as long as I’m a good sport about what happened tonight, I can do whatever I want for the rest of the evening. So I smoked a bowl! I’m really stoned, and I am looking forward to this Ruben sandwich!”
Then I pulled up a chair and truly enjoyed that fuckin sandwich. And it was all sooooooo good.
Happy Birthday Ben!
•
P3 – Their Response
Everyone’s immediate response was shock. There was no laughter, smiles, or even a “Good for you!” While I spoke it looked like they were expecting me to pull eggs out of my pockets and start using their faces for target practice. They were all simply stunned. And I cannot deny this felt good to me. My Aunt was the first to say, “Well that’s good to hear. And I’m sorry for laughing Bob. We couldn’t help it. It was so outrageous!”
My mother’s first words were, “I never found it funny. I hated it. I’ve never liked slapstick humor!” So she didn’t have to apologize. And I’ve heard her say any combination of those 3 sentences probably a dozen times since. But in the days to follow she’s expressed to me how completely astonished she was that I could do that. “I could never do that. Never. I don’t know how you did it.” Which is the #1 reason why when I finally left to take Schotzi on a walk (and write this story), my departing words were, “I was just trying to be a good example.”
And my father’s reaction? – “What’s he talking about? He wants cake??” When he finally did get the full picture he kinda shook his head with disgust and went back to eating his cake. You’re hard pressed to get a reaction outta my dad when there’s a dessert in front of him. But in the end they (Ben included) all acknowledged how impressed they were I had that in me and apologized for laughing.
I’ve had to control myself in some really harsh situations in NYC. But it’s at a different level when its, say, your own mother, for instance. Here a few days later she’s had the strongest response. Like she’d witnessed a miracle happen right before her eyes, and no way to explain it. I’d love to find out she took notes.
